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The Diary of a Nameless Girl
The Diary of a Nameless Girl are the collected writings of The Girl with No Name, in which she observes the various phenomena occurring within Eon Prime. As the character is fleshed out, previous diary entries may be unearthed; until then, the current entries are locked away by lock and key in her personal belongings. __TOC__ Eon: Snowstorm Prime (Fall 2012) Episode 1 On REDACTED, a message was posted in its courier's blood to Caltris' Rock. Within it were contained two things: a cipher and threats to specific individuals. None of the latter concerned me, but encoded secrets beg for freedom, and I am hardly one to deny them. Striking up a few standards proved fruitless; with the hints as given, a shift, a key, and some empiricism seemed most bountiful. TIMEABCDFGHJKLNOPQRSUVWXYZ BCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZA The key, of course, was Time. A keyed transposition and a single shift forward provided me with the answers I sought: I WASEROF A TEHPORP FO A DOG I'VE REVEN NEES. OT TEEM EM UOY TSUM YAP EGAMOH YM NOS ROF SIH SEYE LLIW REVEN EVAEL UOY. UOY YAM DNIF TAERG HTLAEW HTIW EM, GNILLES TAHT HCIHW EREHWESLE SI EERF. YM TEP SRAEB TAHW UOY KEES. And from there, reversing each word provided me my answers: I FORESAW A PROPHET OF A GOD I'VE NEVER SEEN. TO MEET ME YOU MUST PAY HOMAGE TO MY SON FOR HIS EYES WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU. YOU MAY FIND GREAT WEALTH WITH ME, SELLING THAT WHICH ELSEWHERE IS FREE. MY PET BEARS WHAT YOU SEEK. Of course, the message was meant to be understood – just not by me, presumably. Regardless, a lead is a lead, and great wealth (admittedly offered in a way which makes me quite wary) is a boon which should not be taken so lightly. I stand to lose little yet gain much; after all, the end comes, and I must observe it safely. So now, the only question that remains is this: where was I to head from here? The caravans setting forth yielded me my answer: to the Northwest, of course, where others believed destiny awaited. Hours into our race, a battered ship of gnomes and halflings attempted to follow. I cannot be certain they were following me or even my goal; however, I had no time to waste contemplating such things then, and so I took what actions I felt were necessary. (In retrospect, shooting out an engine may have been a bit too much. They were not the most capable of folk, and the ship fell apart without any further assistance from my end. I moved on.) Another day's run, and then another, went without incident. It was on this second day that I was finally contacted, hearing a voice from the wind whisper to me, and when it called I responded: “Do you flee the moon?” “I flee things as I find it necessary. Does the moon merit it?” “No; not if you value this world. Those who flee the moon seek to destroy it." “Then I have no desire to flee; this world and its longevity are things I wish to preserve. Who are you?” “Felix Fineas Faust – a flying friend.” “I apologize for shooting down your ship. I have important places to be." (You must understand; a name like that and a penchant for riddles suggest a Gnomish heritage, and I truly held no ill will towards the adventurers whose vessel I had collapsed.) “Worry not – not ours. Where is your destination?" “I seek the son whose eyes will never leave you.” “We would like to speak with you further. We will figure out a method of conversation.” “What makes our current method of speech unacceptable?” “Brevity; lack of collabaration; distance; running out of spells.” “I understand. Of course, you must also understand why I am cautious.” The wind gave me no response, and I continued my travels. Of course, they were not uninterrupted: they swept down minutes later, projecting images of an armored woman and a jovial man before me. The woman attempted to interrogate me; I held fast against her and made my disdain for the method clear. The gnome was an odd fellow, to be sure; that said, he was diplomatic in his approach, at least, and that is something which I can respect. With the faintest bit of pressure it became clear that both knew of the Cleric of which I spoke. The woman (the Cleric which I sought, as I had assumed) yielded to a bluff and a push, and further established with faltering words that none of the message's intended recipients knew the code. For this, I proposed a simple exchange: their translation in exchange for safe, quick passage. A consent to a Dweomer analysis was sufficient payment, and with a few threatening words from their Cleric I found myself aboard the ship I seeked. The Cleric and the Swordsage were readily apparent, and I found the Prophet of gods unknown, whatever they may be. Aside from some of his more regrettable habits, he seemed innocuous enough, and I felt further watch on him may remain warranted. Each of these individuals has their own strange ways, but none so much as the illithid. 'The Puzzlesolver,' she called herself. She certainly hasn't lived up to her name so far, but I'm willing to hold any doubts at bay for now. After all, they immediately revealed that they know of my undeath, and even my status as a lich; however, none of them admitted where they have heard such news, and furthermore none of them even seemed to care. This is, if nothing else, a temporary relief; even the cleric seemingly had little intention to make an attempt on my life. They bring up tales of a blue wyrm; “the sandwyrm of Firemore,” of whom the prophet of unknown gods (an addict, as it were) desires chase. Perhaps this is the pet we seek? As we soared, I kept watch, and in doing so I learned more about these travelers. The gnome was easily confused, but more quick on his toes than one might imagine. I can see that he may very well be an interesting person to keep up with, assuming our current arrangements last long enough. The ex-dead, Icania Vandril, is an odd one. Not overly offensive, if slightly overeager since his relife, he seems to keep company with distasteful presences; that said, this may come in handy someday. He is, without question, a useful person to know at the very least, and possibly a strong ally. I must confess, it is refreshing to find others who know just how unlife feels. We passed caravans of travelers, heading towards our goal, and demons slaughtering them in droves. Regretful though it may have been, stepping in and jeopardizing our mission (and our safety) seemed a poor idea; I confided in the tactical officer (the cleric is, as I have come to discover, one of holy gods. Most of these are ones I have come to distrust; thanks to today, only one exists who knows exactly what I carry around my neck. I do not trust her any further than I can step away and aim; and even that is barely enough distance at all) that leaving the others behind may be the best idea for the moment. Without warning, a bloodied man with white hair and staff teleported and stumbled onto the ship. After a brief test of skills, he was offered a potential contract in place of a swift removal. I said nothing. Is this the way these people operate? Depending on the levels of risk and reward involved, pressing for some sort of agreement later may prove beneficial to both sides. Such thoughts can wait for another day, however; for now, I continue (as always) to watch from a distance. -A girl with no name REDACTED Category:Personal Accounts Category:Primary Source